


the cowardice and bravery of love

by angstics



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 41st Timeline (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fix-It, Gen, Kept Memory, M/M, Mosaic Feels, Qualice Break-up, Reunions, Time Travel, canon typical margo/josh, implied juliapenny, post-season 4 finale, reynard/the beast/the monster mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstics/pseuds/angstics
Summary: Quentin Coldwater dies. The timeline resets but everyone remembers the previous timeline. Reunions ensue.





	1. AWAKE

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: I wrote this all the way back in June when I was still really upset about the Finale. I'm okay now but all the passion I had faltered. I had a whole plotline with them defeating their previous foes etc etc but I don't care to do that. I'm still proud of what I wrote so I'm posting this as a 'gateway' to the rest of this universe. This is the beginning, and whatever ensues you can imagine or insert as you like. But this is how they reunite.

Quentin opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the familiar prick of long-lost hair on his neck. It brought a smile to his face. He’s glad that even in the afterlife, his body — or a manifestation of his soul? — felt the most _ right _ with a curtain of greasy, long hair framing his face.

The second thing he noticed was that he’s laying on his old, uncomfortable mattress; from before Brakebills, before magic. He’d recognise the embarrassingly loud creak anywhere. Frowning, Quentin sat up. _ Fillory and Further _ first editions lined his bookcase, and dirty socks lay at the corner of his closet, all renaments of a time he hadn’t thought of in years.

The third thing he noticed was how groggy and tired he felt. It wasn’t weird because he never felt that way; it was weird because he felt that way all the time — when he was alive. When Quentin was with the dead Penny, confessing his deepest secrets, he was free. Like his emotions and feelings were finally unshackled by any constraints he’d set for himself. Now, he couldn’t help but feel caved in, like a box filled with screws was laying on his chest.

_ Is this what the afterlife was? _ Quentin thought it would’ve been just a little bit more different than his actual life. He put his hands to his face; felt the etching of wrinkles cross his cheeks and the chalky-feel of gunk in the corners of his eyes. Then, he breathed in for what felt like the first time in decades. The air felt dryer, thicker, than when he was with Penny.

A striking thought sprung in his brain, above all of his confusion and disarray. He fell backwards onto the metallic frame of his bed.

_ Am I alive? _

Everything was spinning, giving even more evidence in favour of his question because things don’t spin when you’re dead. Quentin laughed, another feeling he hadn’t felt in so long, and pressed his rough, pulsing hands to his chest, his cheek, his covers. Even as a soul-manifestation standing in that field, looking over his friends at the bonfire, he couldn’t feel the grass or the heat of the fire or even the fringe of his hair touching his forehead. Here, the roughness of his bed, the hair on his arms, the oxygen in his lungs… it felt so real, so human, so good. Quentin never wanted to die again.

His head throbbed, overwhelmed. He felt his eyes prick. The freedom of letting out what he felt openly and truly came when he was dead, and he made sure it didn’t leave now that he was alive. Tears ran down his cheek, and he didn’t rub it away or hide his face or hold it in. That quickly devolved to tight sobs spilling from his chest, reverberating around him.

The irony of it all made him laugh again. Nothing like being dead to make you fully appreciate being alive.

When he calmed down, the shock of waking up alive subsided to the shock of waking up in his old apartment. Quentin was certain that someone else had taken the space after Julia moved to the Physical Cottage. His lips tightened, and he felt like crying all over again. Where was Julia? How long was he gone for after going through the door? “Oh, fuck,” he murmured.

He was seconds away from hurrying to Brakebills, when the door to his room slammed open. Yet again, the joys of having a working heart reminded him of how it felt when he looked at the people he loved.

“Q?” she whispered, frozen.

* * *

Julia opened her eyes. Lying in the dark, breathing shallowly, she tried to recall what she was doing here.

The last thing she remembered was sitting in the library with Penny, discreetly drinking from a flask as she lazily manipulated letters from a book with magic. The presence of knowledge and old texts was the only thing that didn’t make her feel like she was dying.

She didn’t remember closing her eyes in the library, but, considering the alcohol and the weariness and grief, she was just grateful it was an easy night. After everything, they were rare.

Her eyes shut close, unable to even process the black of her surroundings. “I miss you, Q. So fucking much.” She wished he could hear her.

The past week of numbing grief weighed back down on her. She didn’t know what stage she was on. Was ‘tired’ one of them? Either way, Julia knew she’d never get to the last one, ‘acceptance’. Not when her best friend was dead. Not when the only reason she had magic back was because of the pain of it all. She reached for the sleeping aid medicine she’d kept on her bedside table for as long as she’d been in Kady’s apartment. Instead of the bottle, she found only a very large book. Julia threw it across her room.

She sighed in frustration when she came up short. Holding her breath, Julia went through the tuts for the spell that turned on the lights in a room. Yellow light blinded her for a moment. She jumped back.

Her gaze quickly travelled across the space. This wasn’t her room. Or it hadn’t been for a really, really long time. It was like she’d been teleported to a picture-perfect recreation of her old apartment. She strolled around the room, reading the title of the textbook she’d thrown (“_ Introduction to American State Politics” _ ), eyeing the few photos Q let her take of him, and finding her copy of _ The Girl Who Told Time _ in the depths of her closet.

All the while, her brain was buzzing with motion. _ Why would someone take me back here? _ one of her thoughts kept saying. She looked back at her bed. All the noise in her head stopped. Because it was James who slept next to the crumpled covers she’d just abandoned.

_ What the fuck _. She couldn’t take her gaze of him. He looked so… normal. His face looked exactly the way it looked the last time she saw him, back when the tragedy of their relationship was just another shitstorm in her life. Her heart ached. She never had the chance to grieve him. Magic had taken over everything in her life, leaving no room for anything else.

Her mind ran through all the reasons as to why she was here, among things she hadn’t seen in years, with a boyfriend who didn’t remember her. It was a thoughtless action; her mind was always working on reasoning with any problem that threw itself at her. An inkling of a theory sprouted up. Julia didn’t know what to think of it.

A muffled sound came from outside. Julia’s mind stopped again; the silence was so comfortable that the sudden intrusion shortwired her brain. And then— recognition. Horrible, wonderful recognition.

Julia knew that voice, she knew those sobs. She couldn’t think anymore; didn’t want to. She didn’t think as she jumped to the only other bedroom in the apartment. She didn’t think as she slammed his door open, rattling trinkets and books on their shelves.

She couldn’t think when she saw him, with his familiar, long hair; his puffy cheeks; the glow of amber in his eyes; the natural awkwardness of his limbs. Julia could only let out one word, one syllable. “Q?” It asked a question she refused to have more than one answer for.

She didn’t have to think to jump into his arms, or to wrap him in her own as close as she could. Julia would’ve done it in any life, any era.

* * *

Eliot opened his eyes. Moonlight illuminated the glass near his feet, shining white light into his eye. He stretched his arms, and grumbled at the fact he could perceive anything at all.

All he wanted was to be in a state that didn’t allow him to move, talk, eat, think, or, most crucially, feel. Was that so hard to ask for?

Before anything could creep on him while he’s vulnerable and sober, he grabbed for the full glass, then gulped it down in one drink. Eliot twisted his face at the refreshing taste of the drink. It was water. He didn’t even know the Physical Cottage had water.

Eliot was now fully awake, thanks to the drink. He closed his eyes, reeling in emotions he hadn’t felt in days then shoving them back down to where they originally were. Eliot sat up too quickly, and just as quickly, he collapsed back down. He groaned as the impact rippled through his body. Any moment now, the ripple would reach his wounded stomach and send him to another realm of pain. When it never did, Eliot took a peek at his abdomen.

Then, he realized he hadn’t felt this… okay in a while. His joints didn’t hurt, his senses weren’t overloaded, and his abdomen was completely fine. It was almost as if he’d never been possessed by an ancient, psychopathic child-monster that had to be pulled out of him through a hole in his chest.

But Eliot also didn’t feel okay; not inside his fucked brain. He may actually feel shittier. Sadness, pure and simple, enveloped his mind. The same kind he felt in that hospital bed a week ago. And before he took the first gulp of gin after the fire. He didn’t care that for some goddamn reason his body was fine. He’d ruin it again if it meant he could run away from the ache he felt every second since he’d really woken up as himself. A short huff of air, that would’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so joyless, limped out his mouth. Some dickhead god must’ve thought it was funny to see him destroy himself over and over again. _ Well _ , he thought, going up to the bar and grabbing a bottle of whatever, _ hope you enjoy the show _.

Because he couldn’t withstand the pain of it all: the pain of never having another chance, the pain of blowing it off in the first place, the pain of never seeing him again. He took a sip from the bottle — the sweetness of it regretfully told him it was wine. He sighed into the drink. At least it wasn’t more water.

He went to find Margo. If he was going to wallow, at least his Bambi would understand.

Margo opened her eyes. Not because she wanted to, but because a busy, stinking pile of Eliot was shuffling next to her. He was murmuring quietly and sloppily, but she didn’t bother to listen in. Eliot never liked it when others heard the drunken release of his emotional baggage.

“Honey, it’s like you’re attached to that bottle,” she chatsied, only half-joking. The other half wanted to smash that bottle to the ground, and burn all the self-medicating drugs she could find in a 20-mile radius. A tiny, unaccounted part of her wanted to weep. But Margo Hanson wasn’t a heartbroken widow.

She took his free hand, rubbing it to ease him into letting go. Margo tipped her head to the side. “Are you using moisturizer?”

He snorted, “I drink, Margo. Do you think I have time to moisturize?”

But Margo wasn’t listening. She grabbed his hand tightly and brought it up to her face. She rubbed it along her cheek. It was as smooth and unbothered as a babe’s ass. Although she couldn’t see it, she just knew that it was glossed over with that shiny film that appeared over freshly-lotioned hands. _ This motherfucker just moisturized _, Margo realized.

“Woah, Bambi,” he giggled at the way she squeezed his hands, swelling them into purple sausages. Eliot fumbled to put the bottle on her nightstand, then rubbed his free hand on his face. He laughed again. “My hands are soft.”

Margo was unable to look away from his face now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. “When did you cut your hair?” She said, twirling a curl around her finger. When he didn’t answer, she squished his face so that he was facing her point blank. Margo’s fingers rubbed at the hairless skin at his chin. “And who the fuck let you near a razer?”

Eliot thought on it, looking at her hands for a long time. All the drunk giddiness was gone now; he was back to wearing his regular, small frown. Margo thought it was a shame to see that happiness go away, even if it was superficial.

“I don’t know,” he replied eventually. Eliot looked into her eyes for the first time since he’d taken sanctuary in her room, “What happened to that freakily-dilated fairy eye?”

* * *

Penny opened his eyes. It felt like he was asleep for longer than the whole week combined. Disoriented, he looked at his feet, which is when Penny discovered he was already standing. _ Why the fuck am I standing? _ But at one look at his surroundings, he knew why. The Library still looked as gray and lifeless as it had a week ago.

He let out a long breath. Was he supposed to find his friends? He knew that there were other branches around the multiverse, so he wasn’t certain that this was the one at the Netherlands or… maybe even the one at the Underworld. Penny shuddered.

And why was he here? Did he travel in his sleep now? Or did someone bring him here? He strolled around the aisles, looking for anyone that could help him, but the Library was eerily quiet, not even the sound of squeaking carts occupying the silence.

Penny was about to round a corner when someone called out, “Hey!” The sound was low, right on the edge between a whisper and a hushed tone. And it sounded a lot like Penny’s own voice.

He turned around to see where the sound came from. There was no one in sight. Outloud, he yelled, “Who are you?”

“I’m you, dumbass,” the man said. Penny turned around again, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere he looked. “I’m in your head.”

Penny looked side-to-side, “What the shit does that mean?” _ Am I going insane? _

“You aren’t going insane.” Penny could hear the eyeroll in other-him’s voice.

“Well, dude, you’d be this freaked out too if someone was talking in your head!”

Other-Penny huffed. “Project so you can see me.”

Slowly, Penny sat down on the cold floor, and focused on clearing his mind. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was looking at himself sitting, and another himself standing next to the one sitting.

He was astral-projecting, but he could already feel a headache crawling into his head. Other him, the one standing, was wearing a prim, grey suit. Penny recognised him immediately. “40.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

He threw his hands in front of him in exasperation “What the shit!” he strained.

Penny40 considered. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“You’re a know-it-all librarian. I’m sure you have _ some _ idea,” Penny stated, growing tired of other-him’s ambiguity.

“This wasn’t written in the books,” 40 said, sighing. Penny thought he wasn’t going to elaborate — again — but he continued, “But… I think there may have been a timeline reset.”

Penny stared at him. “What?”

“I think,” he repeated, gaze unfocused, “That there’s been a timeline reset. Everyone’s back to where they were when Jane Chatwin reset the loop the first time.” He looked at Penny for the first time, something like realization blooming across his face. “Oh…”

Penny couldn't wrap his head around anything, so he yelled, “What else?”

“I had my own body in every timeline. But you own my body in this timeline,” he was pacing now, trying to work through what he’s trying to say, “My consciousness wasn’t in a body in the last timeline. And it had to go back to where it always began”

Penny didn’t want to, but he understood what other-him was saying, “So you came back to mine. We’re both in this body.” He sat on the ground.

Penny then jerked his head towards 40, “But isn’t the reset supposed to… reset everything? I still remember my timeline, I still remember the monster, I still remember Julia from your timeline. How do I remember?”

Penny40 sat next him. “I have no fucking clue.”

* * *

Kady opened her eyes. Something strong, and sharp, smashed her in the face. She stumbled back from the impact. “What the hell?” she screeched, holding her nose in one hand, and bringing the other up to defend herself.

“Hey bitch,” Marina’s cool voice said. Kady’s anger flared.

“You can’t speak that way to me, _ bitch _,” Kady yelled. Slowly, she realized they were in Marina’s old safehouse. “Why the fuck are we here?”

Marina lifted a thin eyebrow. Sneering, she lifted Kady’s head with her sharp fingers, “I own you. I can speak to you however I please.” Marina patted Kady’s face.

“Next time, bring me actual shit,” Marina said, walking to the door at the back of the room. “You’re dismissed.” She flicked her hand, then went out of the room.

Kady lay in shock, looking at the red blood flowing from her face and onto her hand. It fell to the ground, coloring the rocks on the concrete.

* * *

Alice opened her eyes. With one sniff of the air, she knew something was wrong.

Magic for the past week was… pungent, at best. It was strong, overbearing, demanding. It was like a child that constantly bugged you to go out and play with him. Magic was more… just more. So much more.

But now, the air felt more like it was made to be breathed in than used. Alice stretched out her hands and tuted a lighting spell. Everything lit up. _ Oh _. Something was definitely wrong.

She was at the edge of a bed. The one not situated in the far end of Kady’s apartment, or her dorm in the Physical Cottage. But the one in her old, detached, destructive house. She stared at the glass horse statue looking back at her then got up.

Alice stalked the hallway, eyeing the clock. It read “3:51 AM”. She frowned, tilting her head. Alice was sure she’d gone to bed way past that time. There were so many books about resurrection and the Underworld. Her heart ached. She’d found nothing substantial. As always.

She wondered if the others had found their way back home safely. A few of them were together in the Brakebills library, researching — although ‘wallowing in alcohol and sadness’ was more accurate. Things got too frustrating, too hard, and she’d snapped and stormed off. Alice understood why they were the way they were; a loud part of her just wanted to check out and forget about her pain. But she couldn’t allow herself to just forget; Quentin needed her.

Alice sighed. Ten minutes had gone by. _ Focus. Something big happened _.

She looked into her mother’s room, expecting to see her sprawled on the small footrest, a glass brimmed with wine in hand. What she saw instead filled her with even more dread. Her father — her dead father — was sprawled next to her mother, half naked, cradling a pillow to his head. Alice didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe something had happened. Maybe this was a monster who came back with her father’s face. Maybe someone, for some reason, bought her dad back. That would explain the decrease in magic; she’d think that it’d take a lot of energy to do.

Alice went into the room, and sat on the bed. She stroked her dad’s cheek, smiling at the heat that radiated from her touch. “You’re a dick,” she whispered, “but I’m glad you’re alive.”

He mumbled back, “Thanks sweetie, but I’ve never stopped.”

Maybe this was a side-effect to resurrection, and maybe this was normal. But the way he said it, as if he really had never died, made Alice pause. _ Something big is going on here _.

Her gaze found a small pocket calendar at his bedside table. She looked at the forefront page. A kitten with shining eyes looked back at her and announced the date as “7/9/15”. _ Oh shit. _

Alice ran to her phone and called the first person she’d thought of.

* * *

Josh opened his eyes. Huh. He was pretty sure he was dead. He remembered the past few minutes pretty well, considering the amount of stress and trauma he’d felt at the time. There were guards chasing them down in Whitespire, and then one of them was pointing a sword to his neck, then- Josh recoiled. Yeah, he definitely died.

But looking around, it didn’t look like he was in Heaven. Actually, it looked a lot like his hideout in the Neitherlands. He stared at the psychedelic carrots growing in a batch of dirt. _ Am I in Hell? _

* * *

Fen opened her eyes. The chirping of birds was disrupted by the strong _ clang _ , _ clang _ of iron smashing on iron. She smiled into a grimace. Fen yelled, as if on instinct, “Dad! It’s too early to start working.”

“Come on, Buttercup,” her father replied, “It’s never too early to make good ol’ knives.”

Fen laughed. Then, the weirdness of what was happening dawned on her. She sat up from her heap, then glanced at her father over the kitchen counter. “Where’s Josh?” She glanced at the cottage she’d lived in her whole life. “And why am I… here?”

Her dad stopped his clanging. “Who’s Josh? Are you feeling well, sweetheart?”

Fen’s heart beat faster and faster as memories from the last 5 minutes came back to her. The guards, the commanding voice of someone demanding their execution, the touch of cool metal on her neck.

“Sure,” she whimpered. _No_, her mind countered.


	2. 41

“Oh Q,” Julia cried out. She couldn’t feel her arms with how hard she was gripping him. “Q, Q, Q,” she repeated, unable to think of anything else.

“God, Jules,” Quentin laughed, if a little choked. She’d forgotten what happiness was in the week without him. Now? Now, she couldn’t imagine living without this flourish of joy that made her feel all warm and full inside.

“Quentin,” she pulled back, her shaking arms still around his back. His eyes were still drooped in that sad-puppy way, his words were still wonderfully clipped. “Q, tell me this isn’t a trick. Because I couldn’t live with myself if it was.” She smoothed down his messy hair quickly, her limbs filled with energy.

“Julia,” he looked to the side then back at her, his lips quivering, “God, Julia. I missed you so much. I’m so sorry.”

A sob slipped from her mouth, “Quentin, please tell me you’re real.”

He embraced her again. “This is real, Julia. I know this is weird, but I can actually feel my vessels pump blood to my brain. This is so real, it hurts.”

Julia howled with laughter, “Fuck, Q.” Her grip tightened. “I love you. I don’t say it enough, but I love you so goddamn much. So much more than anything else that has ever existed.” She pulled back then shoved him lightly. “Don’t ever do that again. If it meant ending the world, I would rather have you.”

Quentin’s eyes widened, “Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

“No. It wouldn’t matter. I love you too much to care,” she smudged a tear away. Her face felt so warm, and her heart was so full, but she never felt lighter. This was _ her _ Q.

“How is this real?” Julia wondered aloud, voice weak.

Quentin pulled her hands to his. “I don’t know.”

He hugged her again, a lot more soft and fragile this time, not ready to let go of her. The touch of her skin to his own, her gentle hair on his shoulders, her long fingers gripping his back like she was trying to open him up. Quentin felt complete. He whispered to the back of her head, “But I’m here, Jules. I love you.”

They held each other until they couldn’t stand the tension in their limbs.

“Q,” Julia started, tone serious and sure, “I don’t understand what was going on in your head in the Mirror World. I don’t think I ever fully will. But I can’t stress enough how much I need you; how much _ we _ need you. To be our friend, our anchor, our heart. You,” she pointed to his chest, “make me want to live. Even in this pile of shit on top of shit we live in.” He closed his eyes, tears falling down his cheeks. He felt every word etch themselves to his bones.

Her fingers traced the wrinkles on his palm, calming down from the rush of emotions that made her temporarily insane while in his arms. She smiled, “The others are going to be so ecstatic to see you. Alice, Margo, Penny, Kady, Josh…” she looked up, “Eliot.”

Quentin fell back, a whole new emotion surging through him. It felt so similar to the one he’d felt when Eliot first limped into that bonfire. He murmured, slow but thoughtful, “I won’t be able to handle any of this.”

Julia smiled her mona-lisa smile, “This is another thing I don’t think I’m gonna understand any time soon.” She retained any other comments she had of those two, just as she had these past eight months.

“I don’t know if I understand it either,” he said, in the same tone. He was staring into space, maybe pondering something.”Is everyone…” Quentin hesitated, trying to find the right word, “safe?”

“As far as I know.” Something itched at her brain. Her room. James. Q’s long hair. “Oh shit.”

Julia surveyed the room. “You’re seeing this too, right?”

“Q, don’t freak out but…” she trailed off.

“Fuck, something bad happened, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know if this is really _ good _ or _ bad _ but I think… somehow... we’ve gone back in time. Maybe from before Brakebills”

She didn’t know how he was going to react, but she didn’t expect him to laugh. “Oh great!” he exclaimed, “Another fucking timeline.”

Julia gasped, just now thinking of that as a possibility, “Shit, you’re right. I thought those were done? With Jane dead?”

“Well.” Quentin carefully recalled the day Margo barged in with two keys and a story. “She isn’t _ dead _dead. It’s weird. Only Margo has seen the alive version of her.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Julia was edging on a thought that sucked some of the happiness she was feeling in the moment. “What if the others don’t remember anything? We aren’t supposed to.”

Quentin didn’t react immediately, but the quick crunch of his shoulders told her enough. _ She ruined it. _ “We’ll figure it out. We just need to get to Brakebills… somehow.”

“Jules,” his voice broke. “I-” He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? Quentin pressed two fingers to his head. He can’t be the only one who has memories of their lives. It would be crueler than anything Hell could put him in. His high hopes deflated to a squeak. _ No _ . Even if they don’t remember him, there’s always a way to go back. _ Always _. “What should we do?”

Julia twisted her mouth in concentration. Quentin couldn’t help but smile. It was like watching her write her Graduate Cover Letter all over again.

His phone rang. In the silence, the ringer vibrated the air around them violently. He glanced at Julia. No one really called him, not even after Brakebills. He looked at the number, expecting to see his Dad’s smiling face shining back, but there wasn’t even a Caller ID.

He accepted the call. “Uh,” he started, but the voice of a woman cut him off.

“Q!” Quentin’s jaw went slack.

“Alice?” he stammered. Julia raised her eyebrows.

“Oh shit,” Alice sounded like she was crying. His eyesight went blurry. She continued blubbering, “Quentin- oh god, Q? Shit, are you there?”

His mouth was numb. “Vix. It’s me. I’m here.”

A cry came from the other end. Quentin let out an incredulous laugh.

“Q, I can’t tell you how happy I am. I can’t. We’ve been working so hard, _ so hard _, to keep on living and to help you come back,” she was talking fast, Quentin can barely understand her. His smile grew. “Please, god, I hope this is real.”

“Alice, I’m really fucking alive,” he put his hand to his head, “I’m here with Julia. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“Hey Alice,” Julia said lightly.

“Julia?” Alice replied, “She remembers? I mean, I don’t know if you’ve realized, but -”

“We’ve travelled back in time,” Julia finished, “Yeah, we noticed. We both woke up in our old apartment. Everything's exactly the way it was years ago.”

“How did all three of us travel back in time? I thought Q was a long shot, but three people? Someone must’ve done this to us.”

Quentin jumped in, “We think this is a new timeline made by Jane Chatwin.” He gestured to his hair, not aware of the fact that Alice can’t see him, “My hair’s also the way it was before I took the entrance exam.”

“And my dad’s alive,” Alice added.

Julia’s gaze dropped. “And James is still here.”

“What?” Quentin and Alice said at the same time.

“My boyfriend. From before.”

“Oh Jules…” Quentin said, hoping he could elevate her that simply. He’d forgotten so much.

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t lying. “At least there’s a hope that the others remember too.” Julia was desperate to see Quentin smile. And he did.

“I hope so.”

She grasped his hand.

Alice was quiet now. “What’re we supposed to do?”

Quentin tried to remember where they all were back then. “What’s the date?”

“September 7th, 2015.”

“Oh shit,” Quentin gaped at Julia. Her mouth was already open. “It’s today. It was 4 years ago, but I’m sure of it. Today’s the entrance exam.” She nodded. Julia could never forget the date her life changed forever.

“Well. How do we get there?” Julia asked, thinking back to the randomness of the way she’d gotten in.

Alice laughed suddenly. “Oh, I know a way.”

* * *

Kady wasn’t sure what was really going on. One second she thought that she died and this was her own personal Hell, the next she thought that everything she remembered was a bizarre, weirdly-vibrant dream. Sometimes she thought she was so miserable in her life with Marina keeping her on a leech that she’s gone insane and had imagined people and quests and monsters to keep her busy.

She’d find out as soon as noon came and a flying letter from Brakebills arrived at her door, leading her to the exam room. For now, she lay on the small bed she claimed in the safehouse, thinking about her maybe-imagined friends.

The others, herself included, would come together as often as they could to find ways they could help Quentin. The days and nights spent together were the most soul wrenching. It’d always start and end the same way. They’d come together — rarely all of them, it seemed —, sad, angry, already half-drunk, then leave even sadder, even angrier, and even drunker. Leave it to Quentin’s dumb ass to make six already fractured people fall apart even more in the name of being a _ hero _.

Kady sighed. She was being a bit hard on the imaginary dork. If Quentin wasn’t real, her sorrow was still intense enough to weigh down her mood in the hours leading to sunrise. He had given her the only semblance to joy she — or Alice, Zelda, or Harriet — felt… ever. Ever. In her whole life, she never felt so powerful and helpful. Rebuilding the library was hard and time-consuming, and constantly flared up internal problems from librarians loyal to Everet. But it was something good. And with the groups of hedges she’d united, they were on the brink of changing everything for witches like her, with new safehouses around the world uniting with her.

All of that was gone. Or it never was. She didn’t know.

What she felt now reminded her of the feeling she felt whenever she saw the other Penny stroll around as if he deserved to be there. The ice she held to her nose dripped into her eye. She let a few tears slip. What did she do to deserve to love a man, then lose him? Then get him back and lose him in a whole other way? Then be forced to consider that her mind was poisoning itself with someone who didn’t even exist?

And, as she felt about Penny23, she felt the same now: powerless. Kady was glad her nose wasn’t really broken; she didn’t want to miss anything. She couldn’t, or she was stuck here forever.

* * *

“El, what the _ shit _?”

Eliot considered the question; his brain was still fuzzy from the wine. “I don’t think I know. Did one of us accidentally do a god-level anti-aging spell?”

“It isn’t just that, Eliot,” she thumbed the side of his neck. “You had a scar here. From one of your shit-faced periods.”

“Mmm. I haven’t thought about that in a hot minute.”

“Because you’ve hidden it so well,” Margo tempered. She remembered that day well enough. They may have been breaking into a certain mansion when Eliot fell on a sharp gate post, scraping the skin from the side of his neck ‘til you could practically see the muscle. It haunted her for weeks after... how could she have been so careless?

“Other than that obscure tidbit, the puncture your lovely axes put in me is gone. Completely,” Eliot mumbled, twisting his hands in a tut that materialized a cap onto the wine bottle.

“Fuck,” Margo rolled her eyes. “This smells like time bullshit.”

Eliot hummed. “That’s a large jump, but I don’t think that means anything in our lives.” He stared at her bare arms; no marks were burned to her skin. He pointed it out to her. “Maybe you have a point.”

“_ Eliot. _ Do you know what that means?” She paused, and unlocked her phone. She laughed. “God really is playing us like his personal fuck toys. We have to greet the first years in 6 hours. Again.”

Eliot, suddenly, couldn’t breath. “What are you telling me?”

“Maybe your baby-face is a blessing in disguise.” Her eyes shone. Eliot stared into them, unbridaled, uncontrollable hope springing in his chest and up his throat and through his head.

A choked laugh shook him until his face was twitching uncontrollably, physically unable to stop smiling. “Q.”

Margo nodded, like a bobbing doll. “Fuck yes.” He took her head to his chest. She rubbed his back, then said, “You can stop chanting his name now.”

* * *

The Pennys were sitting in silence, each thinking about their own worries. Penny, the one with the fitted suit and bored face, was thinking about how he could go back to his own existence. He missed his work in the Underworld. Helping people move on to the next life felt like noble work, but, of course, it was taken from him. As everything else has been.

Penny23 didn’t seem to like the sitting much. “Why am I in the Library?”

“We,” Penny corrected, “are here because I got us here.” Penny liked quiet. It allowed him to think, to problem solve, to feel. Being in a real body made him feel choked, small. He felt more dead.

The other Penny looked bothered by that answer. “Why?” 23 pestered.

As a manifestation, Penny was so much more than everything that made him him. Annoyance was an emotion he hadn’t felt in so long, but Penny23 was really pulling on that thread.

“Because we need someone to help me.”

“And what about me?” the other him yelled, “You can live in this nimble brain for long enough for me to make sure Julia and the others are okay.”

“They’re fine.”

“You said yourself that you don’t know anything about this timeline.”

Penny bit the inside of his cheek. “They always start out fine.”

Penny23 was now pacing. Penny wondered why he didn’t just go back to his body and travel back. Maybe 23 wanted answers too.

“I need to be there for them,” 23 argued, “I know you don’t give a singular fuck, but things are hard for them right now. For us.”

Penny smiled, and at least it felt good to smile. “It’s a timeline reset, man. Everyone goes back to where they started. Even the dead. Especially the dead.”

23 took a second, then two. Penny knew he finally realized when he rolled his eyes.

“I definitely need to get to them now. Sorry, 40.”

“Wai-” Penny23 instantly blipped out of the space.

Shit. Penny’s real body opened his eyes, which was the remaining projecting Penny’s cue to go back to the body’s mind. This is going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

They were officially in uncharted territory. Their alumni interview was in an hour, but he wasn’t revising his interview answers or prepping his suit. Instead, he and Julia were still in the casual, crumpled clothing they’d woken up in. Quentin missed his cardigan.

It was almost noon when they left the interview 4 years ago. Ten minutes later, the paper from the ‘extra edition’ of _ Fillory and Further _ led Quentin to Brakebills. The croissant Quentin was nibbling at was cold and hard. He didn’t bother to eat anymore of it.

Julia tapped her shiny nails on the plastic table. “Are we sure we didn’t tell her to meet us here at 1?” She checked her phone, but the text was exactly the same it looked the last five times she saw it. Quentin’s leg bounced. Julia leaned back, taking a sip of her mocha and surveyed Quentin.

Quentin averted his gaze to instead focus on a pigeon picking on a rock. He knew Julia wasn’t really looking at him — the squint was her trademark thinking face — but it was almost like she could see into his mind and analyze every thought he had when she looked at him like that.

Earlier, he and Julia had attempted to talk about what had happened after he died. It was like a dance; She didn’t mention the bonfire, and Quentin didn’t bring it up. Instead, Quentin talked about how strange and melancholy their Penny was. Julia talked about relearning magic, and her days spent with Penny23 in the library, and the few times she’d seen their friends.

“Things were crumbling,” Julia confided, laying across from him on their living room couch. They were passing the time doing little magic and watching silent soap infomercials. “We all had our crises, but we also needed to save you...” She caught the way Quentin turned his head to hide behind his hair. The edges of Julia’s lips dropped. “You weren’t a burden, Q. You never were. Everything else was. It was like what we wanted was in a constant battle with something else that wanted us.” Julia played with her nail. “We missed you every day.”

Quentin took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. There was a lot he wanted to say, a lot of it self-deprecating and a lot more of it nonsensical. But how Julia spoke made him feel uneasy. He’s known her for so long. Quentin knew when she was holding back. It made his heart beat against his ears.

“Was it bad?” His broken brain scoffed.

Julia stayed quiet, creating a trail of smoke with her finger. “Yes.” She started to say something, then stopped herself. Quentin winced. She was choosing her words so carefully. “We were all bad, but in so many ways.” She twisted her hand in an arch, “It was like we all got to pick a vice from a hat, with each one contradicting the other. I think we all knew we wouldn’t last a month together if we kept on the road we were going down.” She snorted.

The trail of smoke she made was now apart of a larger bird made of gray, controlled smoke. Julia blew on it, and it flew around the ceiling. Then, spotting the light coming from outside, it sped towards the closed window, and exploded into a heap of dust.

Quentin didn’t want to ask any further, and Julia was so tired from thinking about it. So they went back to watching the TV, waiting for working hours to start.

The clitter of a bell rang through Quentin’s ears, bringing him back. Julia got up, and he followed suit when he found who she was looking at.

Alice briskly walked towards them, carrying a number of thick books and a small purse. Her eyes were glued to Quentin. Julia silently promised her that he wouldn’t disappear if she looked away; she’d been afraid to for hours, but he was still there. Still living, breathing.

Alice tried to speak, but it came out as a squeak. Instead, she dropped her items on the table and hugged him. “Hey Q,” Alice said, her voice trembling. A tear streaked her face.

Quentin got away first. “You’re here,” he smiled, but it was distant, sad. Julia decided to save him.

“And you’re late,” she complained, bearing a smile of her own.

Alice’s eyebrows pulled in a grimace. “Julia,” she started, nibbling on her lower lip. Anyone who knew Alice knew that look; she was about to jump into a long, well-written speech.

Julia shook her head then grinned. “Who the fuck cares about anything anymore? Q’s alive.” She set out her arms, then took her in a rocking hug. Alice nervously giggled; a sound far beyond the quiver of her voice a minute ago.

“I’m sorry, Julia,” Alice confessed, “For everything.” Julia’s smile flattered, but she didn’t feel any malice towards her. This was their fight, and they’d won.

“Okay,” Julia whispered. She sat back down on her chair, dragging Alice to the one next to her. Alice was still staring at Quentin. Every time Quentin blinked, he was looking at a different person. Julia hit him with her shoulder.

He coughed into his hand, and it was the fakest sound she’d ever heard. Julia closed her eyes for a second, fully taking in how grateful she was Quentin was still Quentin.

“Did you get it?” Julia asked, tilting her head to Alice’s bag.

As if she’d completely forgotten that they weren’t here to just look at Q, Alice stared at her blankly for a semi-second before jumping back and opening up the bag. “Right!” She pulled out a translucent, blue key from the pocket, the Brakebills crest engraved at the base.

Julia inspected the key. “These are always so cool,” Julia remarked.

“How’d you get this, Alice?” Quentin knew that they were enchanted to be unstealable. At least that’s what Eliot said on the day he was almost kicked out from Brakebills so long ago. He’d suggested to give him his key as soon as he graduated, then dismissed the concept as soon as he mentioned it. Later, Eliot had suggested seducing him to up his spirits. His lips went up in a private smile.

Alice’s eyes shone in her own secret. “I took them from my dad’s hidden drawer.” Quentin cringed, not wanting to imagine whatever _ that _ meant.

She shyly shoved her hair behind her ear. Julia took another sip of her mocha, and checked her phone. “We should get going.”

Alice nodded in controlled shakes. Julia turned to get her bag when a man with a purple shawl and dark chest hair fell on the ground next to her.

She stared at him. “Penny?”

He shook gravel from his hair and flashed a smirk, “Hey.”


	3. RENAISSANCE

When one talks of the end of an era, it may be because of the end of a major war, or the death of an influential figure, or the shift to automized toasters. Realizing he hadn’t bought the vest he knew he looked best in yet, Eliot thought of the end as the era going back to where it first began.

* * *

“Penny!” Julia exclaimed, pulling him up. “Shit— are you okay?”

“One piece.” Penny assured. He only just registered the pressure from her grip. “I take it you remember the last timeline?”

“So this _ is _ another timeline.” A laugh beat at the air behind his head, the breath warm enough to annoy him _ just right _.

Penny40 already warned him of the undead Quentin, but the weight that levelled his shoulders the past week dropped the moment he turned and saw his face. Penny tried to think it was because he wouldn’t have to deal with the drowning grief of the others and not because he kind of missed having the idiot around. Maybe that was 40 speaking.

Still, he sighed deeply, not without a smile that reached the wings of his nose. “Hey Coldwater.” Penny clasped his hand, the most affection he swore to ever show the gremlin.

Quentin’s sardonic laugh turned to a more sincere, weird smile. “Hey.”

“What the fuck?” Julia still held her arms in front of her, asking rhetorical question after rhetorical question in one gesture.

Penny looked into her beautiful, crinkled eyes then her tame, flowing hair. Then he looked to Quentin’s elated face and then, with some surprise, Alice’s stiff figure. “You guys know there’s been a timeline reset?”

Alice and Julia rolled their eyes in the same movement. “We’re not dumb,” Julia conceded, “Everything’s back to where it was four years ago, including Quentin.” She pat said Quentin’s arm then frowned. “I need a coffee.” Julia squeezed Quentin’s shoulder.

Penny barely heard Alice talk about her dad, and the entrance exam, and the alumni key, and their plans, and Eliza. The name stopped his mind from buzzing with thoughts of Julia. “Who?”

Quentin stammered though an answer. “Eliza? Well, um, she’s actually Jane. Chatwin. But I don’t think she goes by that anymore.”

“Where do we find her?” He stared pointedly at Quentin.

Quentin’s eyes diverted, “She’s supposed to be dead, but—”

“Timeline resets bring the dead back to life,” Penny widened his eyes at Quentin, as if saying _ Exhibit A _. Quentin was still looking away.

“It’s more complicated than that.” Quentin turned to the sky, working something out in his head. “She died. In our timeline. But she’s also alive in all timelines at the same time.”

Penny narrowed his eyes. “That makes… no sense. Wait— no. Nothing ever makes sense.” He hummed in agreement in his own head, then remembered that Penny40 was still there. Penny laughed abruptly, for a second. “Talking about shit that doesn’t make sense…”

He began his story of waking up in the library, standing in his sleep like a damn bat. (“Actually…” “I don’t care.”) Julia came back to their table when Penny got to the part where 40 implied Quentin was alive.

“What’s going on?”

“Our Penny is in this Penny’s head,” Alice summarized, accepting the coffee Julia offered with a curt nod. She flipped the lid off, then flooded the cup with too-sweet sweetener. Quentin’s line of view finally moved to Alice’s cup, his eyes glassy.

“Timeline shit put us in the same body.”

“And that’s not great, I’m assuming?” Julia said, sitting back.

Penny thought of 40 travelling without his control and his persistent presence when he allowed himself to be noticed. “No.”

Julia was still staring at him silently, her mouth fixed. Quentin seemed absolutely enthralled in a pigeon’s battle with a boulder its size. Alice sipped her monster coffee. Penny took the initiative to restart the conversation. “How do we find Jane, Eliza, whatever? Maybe she can fix this,” he gestured to his head.

“Or take us back to our timeline,” Quentin muttered.

“Eliza’s supposed to be at Brakebills,” Julia recounted, then looked to Quentin. Penny then realized he was the only one who’d met Eliza. He rolled his eyes. _ Of course the white nerd-hero is our only link out of here _.

But Quentin stayed quiet, his chest stilling. “Um,” his throat bobbed. The quiet joy Quentin displayed a few minutes ago was all gone.

“Q?”

Quentin averted his eyes again. “Are we sure that everything’s been reset?” He swallowed again, as if whatever he was about to say would become true if he said it.

“We’ve been here for a few hours,” Alice countered, “We don’t even know how many people remember the last timeline.”

Closing his eyes, Quentin continued, “Because then that would mean that everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through…”

“Is gone.” Julia’s voice was low. Penny saw the veins on her arm accentuate.

“The Beast, the monsters, the Library.”

“Reynard.”

Somehow, Quentin’s face became even more sullen. Penny clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. He wanted to hurt them all; to destroy them; to forget they ever existed. And the fire behind Julia’s eyes described all that he felt and more.

Quentin was rubbing his temple methodically. “We lost it all but—” He sighed, and yet Penny knew what he meant to say. _ But the crushing, draining pain it came with stayed _.

* * *

Margo ran into Eliot’s room. For a second, her attention went to the vests and $800 corduroys strewn across his queen bed and floor, then right back to Eliot, who was slamming his drawers shut. “Where the fuck is my white turquoise oval cabochon stone ring, Bambi?”

“I bought you that on our anniversary next month,” Margo shoved the topic away. “We need to get Josh from that hellscape. And Fen from Fillory.”

Eliot stopped his groaning. With raised eyebrows, he took her waist. “We don’t know if—”

She looked up at him under her lashes, glaring with conviction. “We also don’t know if—”

“Uh-uh,” Eliot dismissed. He moved on to an engraved box on his dresser, shuffling through the jewelry inside.

Margo let out a growl, then stomped her barefoot. “Fuck, El!” He paused for a moment then went back to his digging. “We can’t just sit around,” she pointed at a particularly purple vest, “and dress up. I have my people to save and my kingdom to run.”

He put on a silver double-ring on his index, crinkled his face, then flicked it away. “This is important.” He took out a set with embossed patterns and white stones pressed to the sides. “And if you haven’t noticed: Q,” a hint of a smile stretched his lips, “is the only one of us who knows how to get out of Earth in these early stages. We’re stuck here until we get him back.” Eliot hummed as he put the set on his ring finger.

Margo wanted to watch his curled lips all day long, and ignore all the plot holes in Eliot’s borderline hysterical hope. She also didn’t want to lose him again if things went wrong, as they always do. “But…” she sat next to him. Eliot was staring intently into the box. Titling his head to face her, she was mildly glad that his eyes weren’t half-lidded or bloodshot — he’d thankfully slept off his tipsiness.

Margo took a moment. He looked so much like the Eliot she loved when she was just a magical grad student, but with that new, far-off look he’d adopted when he came back into their nightmare of a life. A dark curl twisted around her finger; he also put on a lot less product, letting some of his short hair curl at the top and nape of his head. The balanced combination of Eliot Waugh and High King Eliot. She smiled, a sad sort of smile. “We don’t know, El.”

Eliot swallowed then looked back into the box. He pulled out a thick ringlet crowned with what seemed like amber. He wore it next to the ensemble. “We’ll see.” Margo sighed and leaned on his shoulder.

“I like the rings,” she muttered, trying to find a safe landing area. Eliot rested his head on top of her’s. Then, he stood and twirled, showing off his full mobility.

“Been a while,” he said, patting his burgundy vest and mustard collar shirt. Margo’s smile tightened. She never thought he’d wear anything more than widower-chic again. But here he was, looking like a mix of a hot dog stand and a ver closeted Duke.

“And you look as hot as ever, babe.” Margo kissed his thumb. He stared into her eyes, and Margo felt like she would crumble if she wasn’t so dead-set on staying in one piece. His face relaxed.

“Hey guys!” Margo and Eliot groaned. With the good came the bad, as it were. Even when the good wasn’t really all that good and the bad was just the same.

“What do you want, Todd?” Eliot slurred. Todd stumbled for an answer. Margo realized that Todd didn’t know this already happened. The thought made her angry.

“They’re coming in,” Todd sputtered.

“Now?” Margo remarked, her eyes flicking to Eliot. His face was void of the emotion it had a moment ago.

“Yep.” Todd lingered at the frame. Margo shot him a figurative dagger. He got the idea and left.

She straightened Eliot’s collar, then ruffled it to give it the uniform-mess Eliot loved so much. “I want him to be our Q too. But you know it’s never that easy.” Her chest heaved in a sigh; she missed Josh and Fen and her dumbass court too. But she’d never gotten what she really wanted, so why start hoping now?

Eliot didn’t say anything, but she knew he understood. He flashed his wallet of name cards, a certain _ ‘Qu- Coldw-’ _ sticking out at the front. “Let’s get our nerd.”

* * *

Quentin was a bit on edge. Hours of thinking and talking and tutting had busied his mind from how objectively fucked they were. Now that they were up and actually doing something, it felt too real all of a sudden. Like every breath felt closer to his last, and every step felt further away from all that they’d done.

They were forced into pairs as the Upstate New York streets got tighter and crowds got busier. Penny was drawing something into Julia’s notebook, pointing at his knuckles. Julia was strolling next to him, frowning.

In the cafe, Julia had tried to organize everything they knew from the last timeline in her small, black notebook. She enjoyed the drama.

They, mostly Alice, had told her about the button to Fillory, Mayakovsky’s batteries, the third year class, the summoning spell, the emotion bottles, the Leo Blade, Rhinemann Ultra— Julia scribbled a lot more notes in the downtime when they were busy remembering things from so long ago. Quentin reminded himself of all that time he’d abandoned her.

“Once we get into Brakebills,” Julia had said, radiant with the idea, “we need to talk to Dean Fogg. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Now, Quentin’s mind was a flurry. He couldn’t focus on a thought for more than a minute before another cycled through. He didn’t even realize he was grimacing until Alice reached out with a thumb and smoothed out the furrow on his brow. On instinct, he smiled up at her. Then, a thought shone through, and he frowned again

Julia and Penny where in their own world, talking and talking. They were alone. “Hey- uh Alice?” he began, trying to find his footing. He looked up at her, taking in the braided impart in her hair. It was so unlike the Alice he knew. Quentin slowed his step, and Alice followed. This felt important, and Quentin couldn’t wait any longer; he had to let it go. “When I was dead,” he flitted his head back and forth all casual, “I realized that I should uh- be more open? About what I’m feeling. So this is me. Doing that.”

Alice waited, keeping her head still. “So. I love you. And I hate you.” Very, very still. He breathed in. “You ruined our lives, and you made me the closest thing to content-” he paused, “- at a time where I felt like I was going insane. Like my life was finished, and I was losing everything because everything was running away from me. I hated you, but I also hated the Monster, and the Library, and Brakebills, and the gods, and— just… everyone.

“And most of all, I hated myself? For not being in a happier life? Even when I knew it wasn’t really my fault,” He was rambling, he knew he was. But Quentin didn’t want to stop; he was at the heat of it all now. “Then— I saw we were happy, at one point, long ago. And I thought to myself: _ You have a chance to not be the sad little shit you’ve been this whole time _.” Quentin squinted, blurring the edges of his vision. “So I took it. I let myself try to love you.”

Alice was nodding very slowly now, taking it all in. Her jaw was slack, bordering on a full gape. Quentin didn’t know if he felt guilty or free. He licked his lips, then continued, “I want—” What did he want? “I want to love you like I don’t have to love you. Do you get that?” Her head dropped. He had the urge to wrap her hands in his, and kiss her forehead; he didn’t give in when he remembered that was more of Eliot’s thing. His limbs sprang with pricks.

“I—” she paused, tightening her lips. “Yes.” It sounded like a confession. “What is this?”

“It’s a new beginning.” The bittersweetness of death came back to him.

She brushed her hands against Quentin’s. He barely felt it. “I love you, Q. Nothing can change that, not ever.” She blinked, and her eyes glimmered. “But coming back after being allowed to let it go… It changed everything for me; you, magic, myself. I get that, at least.”

He squirmed his eyebrows, ready to start bawling right then and there. Of course she would; she was Alice Quinn, the woman who’d given and lost everything for love, for magic. In the best and worst possible ways. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

Alice started to walk quicker. Quentin was torn again; take her hand, make her smile, pet her hair. Instead, he caught up to Julia and Penny, who’d stopped in front of a picnic area lined by thick shrubs.

“This is it,” Julia said simply, looking transfixed by the plain scenery. Alice nodded, face set.

Penny shook his head, closing the notebook and putting it into Julia’s bag. “Let’s break into this fuckwad school.” Quentin rolled his eyes, and he saw Julia did too. Already climbing into the shrubs, Alice pulled out her Alumni key.

“It isn’t far from here,” she insured, “The entrance is exactly a thousand steps from here.”

It was like Quentin’s heart was stuck in a dishwasher. “The entrance? As in with the sign? And the ledge?” _ Would he be there right now? _

“When I was here,” Julia started, panning her head, “it opened up to the fountain.”

Alice frowned. “Mine opened to the front steps of the study hall.”

“So,” Q said, “The entrance isn’t stationary.”

Alice waved the key, reflecting light into Quentin’s eye, “Let’s find out.”

* * *

The letter finally came, whooshing air around it’s small, feathered wings and displaying the Brakebills crest front and center. Kady snatched it, hungrily opening it with one rip.

_ Congratulations Kady Or- _

Kady’s heart almost stopped from the thrill of relief. “Oh, thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck,” Kady praised, eyes squeezed.

She got to the disclosed location (it was the same as last time— the alley next to the kosher butcher’s shop a brisk walk away) within the hour. When she entered through the portal, all her doubts and misery fell through her. This is real. The is all real.

Kady pushed back her tangled hair and choked out a laugh at the hall of students. It was so much like what she remembered. Maybe this was a time-travel-situation; the idea started growing on her as the feeling of deja vu intensified. But why her? Was she the only one taken here? Fucking hell.

She sat down at a desk, recognizing the man who sat next to her from her Magical History class. She leaned to whisper under her breath, “Raf? Or- no, Raymond, right?”

He turned to her. Running a hand through his short coils, he asked, “Do I know you?”

“Apparently not,” she started running her eyes across the room. They have to be here, right? Kady was almost certain Penny was here for the exam. Quentin too. But all she saw were vaguely familiar faces that, honestly, meant nothing to her.

“Everyone.” It was Sunderland who’d spoken. “You may begin.” _ Oh right. _ She still had this bullshit to go through.

Kady was never particularly good at school — magical or not. It always felt so trivial, and she’d been right. The academics of Brakebills was the least important part of her life. Which is why her mind was reeling as she wrote and wrote and wrote in the booklet, describing every tut and explaining the ins and outs of physical theory. The fact she’d seen all of these questions before may have helped.

* * *

This rabbit was especially twitchy, Fen noticed. It flicked it’s long, white ear at her as if it was shooing her away. That was a good sign— travelling rabbits were especially rude.

It had taken 5 days of her father’s concerned looks and long walks through Warren Creek to find a messenger rabbit; with its precisely 2-inch ears and thermophile-red eyes and hop-skip-jump walking pattern.

Now, it was asking a question, maybe, with it’s vibrating nose. “_ Leave a message at the tone _ ” _ , _Fen interpreted, with a giggle that faded when she realized she was the only person in all of Fillory who recognised the reference.

She coughed the way she saw Eliot do when he’d said something that left the court quiet, or something that made Fen crunch her face. “Let’s get to business then.”

Fen held the rabbit to her mouth, then paused. She sat like that for a minute or two or ten, the rabbit twitching in her hand and tickling her upper lip with it’s fur.

Six words didn’t feel enough to explain her confusion, her homesickness, her freight, her need for help, her want for news back. Whispered words slowly went through her mouth and into the rabbit’s ear.

Fen thought very, very hard about Eliot’s small smiles and Margo’s brutal compliments, and when she opened her eyes again, the rabbit was gone. She hoped it didn’t just run off with her pleas.


	4. THE SPARK THAT STARTED IT ALL

Penny was trying to be quiet. He remembered how painful it was to hear someone foreign in his mind, especially from when the Beast was alive. Every time, it felt like he was being nailed in the head with a hammer. So he tried to just observe, for 23’s sake.

He was inside of Penny23’s head, as if he was in his own body. If he focused hard enough, Penny could even control his-their body, like when he travelled them to the Library after he woke up surrounded by bottles of Vodka in Fucktown, California. Penny wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was petrified with panic and nostalgia and disgust. And then 23 woke up, and started moving, and Penny realized he couldn’t control his body, and that was when he realized something shitty had happened.

That mix of feelings came back to his conscience, right after he saw Alice insert the key into an invisible hole and Quentin sighed gratefully and Julia smiled and— _ oh, hello, old friend. _

Like a hammer. Penny, his body and two minds, doubled over. _ Been a while, has it not? _

“Penny?” Julia was already next to him, confused and worried.

“Oh no,” Alice muttered, but the Pennys didn’t hear her. _ The foolish, sentimental, benile Jane Chatwin, _ the voice chatsied, _ Getting attached to that weak boy. _ It laughed, a sound reminiscent of a golden era, mustache-twirling villain.

“Is he sick? Was Penny sick last time?” Quentin’s words were already escaping his head.

Alice was kneeling in front of him nudging his head to face her. Her mouth was moving, but all he saw was lights and all he heard was the voice.

And Penny spoke before 23 could. “The Beast.” Alice stopped talking mid-sentence. _ Round two will be very fun, indeed, Penny. Or would it be three for one of you? Not like it matters. 1 out 40 isn’t much of a good score. _

“Shut up,” Penny growled, rage staining his mouth. And just like that, everything went quiet. Penny froze, scared of that deafening buzz to come as it did the last time he’d retaliated. His fingers itched, as if reaching for— he squeezed his eyes. He needed something to drink.

“Penny, are you there?” Alice’s voice firmed it’s way through his head, like a beacon.

“Fuck,” he replied. The Pennys weren’t sure which one spoke.

23 lifted his head, “The Beast is definitely not dead.” They were all wearing the same grimaced pout.

Penny’s spirit shook. He had to get out of there. As 23 recounted what The Beast had said, he projected out of their body.

It was a step up, if the step was made of a first-grade coloring book. At least he wasn’t restricted to Penny’s very Julia-centric viewpoint.

He hurled his suit jacket on the ground, then punched the tree Penny was laying on, shouting curse after filthy curse. “Can you give me some peace, dickhead?” 23 yelled back.

Penny’s astral nerve astrally pulsated in his astral neck. “This is his,” he pointed at Quentin, who was looking at the others with confused glances, “fault. You heard it.”

“How can you say that?” 23 glared, stumbling up with Julia in hand, “This is Jane’s fucking fault! As it always fucking is!”

“Penny, relax,” Julia coerced, stepping back from him.

“Your Penny’s being a little bitch,” he said. Penny rolled his eyes.

Glowering at 23, he started, “There isn’t time for th—”

“Ignore him,” Julia broke him off, “Are you ok?”

“The Beast is terrorizing him again,” Alice said, flailing her hands, “Of course he isn’t.”

“And soon enough,” Quentin was pacing, his hand rubbing at his forehead, “he’ll be coming for us too.”

Julia was nodding, but she was encased with checking on Penny, “Can you get up?”

“I’m fine,” 23 forced out. He shook dirt from his pants. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You can’t just go to Brakebills. He knows we’d be there!” Penny yelled, chasing after them. But they didn’t hear. Only 23 looked back and shook his head. “Goddamn idiots.” Alice turned the key and just like that, they were facing the back entrance of the Brakebills University.

“This is it,” Julia said, “Where do we go?”

Quentin pointed at a large, very rectangular building beyond the garden in front of them. “The study hall,” he stated, but after a beat— as if hesitant to share the knowledge they all already knew.

23 was the first to step forward. Julia and Alice followed after a look. Quentin stood next to the projecting Penny, scanning the premises. He eventually followed Julia.

* * *

“Times up!” Sunderland announced. Kady shifted her clenched jaw. Still no sign of anyone. She wanted to bite her tongue off. “You may step up and get ready for your hands-on demonstration.”

Kady got in line, breath becoming shallower by the second. They still weren’t there. Why weren’t they there? Where were they? She’s always been alone, and it wasn’t like she was suddenly apart of the group because she never really was. But they knew her, and she bredrugingly loved some of them in ways she never thought she would. Without them, without her independence, without her purpose… she had nothing.

“Next! Here’s your card,” Sunderland squinted at her exam, “Kady.”

“Where can I find Dean Fogg? I need to see him.” If anything was a constant with this backwards school, it had to be Fogg.

Sunderland raised an eyebrow, “The Dean is feeling unwell. If you succeed, I’m sure you’ll meet him soon enough. For now, please wait for your demonstration.”

She was always goddamn waiting. Seconds away from emphasizing her urgency, someone had pressed their hand on her shoulder. Kady froze in place. Right then, she knew. She turned her head, and there was her best friend, the ex-love of her life, the woman who was ready to change the world with her, and Quentin.

This was all real. All of it. It was overwhelming; her brain had to reset and repaint the world in new, foreign colors. Her friends were real and they were practically vibrating with trailing eyes and restless limbs.

“Oh my god, I thought I’d become hysterical,” Kady laughed. She paused for a second to take in Julia’s grin and sparkling eyes; Kady matched her smile and it hurt. Julia was the first to reach out and hug her.

“Right?” Julia snorted. Kady was all at once filled with so much fury, she didn’t know what to do with it. Julia was the only thing that stopped her from smashing the ground with her bare fists.

“Who the fuck did this?” Kady growled after Julia pulled away. Kady was focusing in on Julia alone, unable to even look at the anomalies she had with her.

“Current theory? New timeline courtesy of Jane Chatwin.” Kady squinted. She’d been out of service for most of their shit with Fillory and the Beast… and whatever fuck all with timelines?

Kady raised an eyebrow, “You’re saying that like this is normal.”

Julia laughed, a song of a sound. “It’s a whole thing. Every time we failed in killing the Beast, Jane travelled back in time. Q says this is the forty first time.” She looked back, and the immersion was broken. When Kady’s eyes landed on Penny’s slack face, she was back into that bubble of admiration and pain Julia had just pulled her into.

“Penny says hey,” 23 said, his eyes looking just to the right of her.

“What?” Everything else faded into the background.

“Another whole thing. Your Penny is stuck in my head. He’s next to you, actually.” He scowled. It reminded Kady of when Quentin’s wards were slipping and he was complaining to her about it. “You know you can’t touch people while projecting, right? You’ve had way more experience with being a projection than I’ve ever had.”

She wanted to yell, so she whispered, “Is he okay? Are you?”

He looked away. Kady really couldn’t look away this time, not even when Alice had taken her hand and hugged her too. “I’m sorry, Kady,” Alice said.

Julia was turned away, talking to Quentin, Q, nerd, loser, King. Dead and alive. “Quentin’s here too,” Kady said, and she hated the exasperation in her voice. She patted him on the shoulder. “Good.” She tried to emulate the Alice who’d let go of the grief-stricken obsessive at home and come to the Library with plans and purpose— always purpose.

Kady took it all in for a second, then said, “Fogg’s in his office. How do we get there without anyone stopping us?”

“We magic our way through,” Julia smirked, “Penny can’t travel with us, but he can travel to people on his own. He can find Fogg, and we can get into Brakebills through the exam.”

“We didn’t do the exam,” Quentin said in a way that implied he just realized so and was terrified he wasn’t a magical graduate student anymore. Nerd.

Julia opened her hand, and Kady mindlessly gave her her card. “So we all demonstrate our magic with Kady. They’d have to take us in, and if they don’t, Fogg would have to take us out himself.”

“It’s the best plan we got,” Alice shrugged. Quentin stared out the window. Penny nodded and travelled to whatever den Fogg was in. Kady wondered if her Penny still stood next to her.

* * *

Quentin didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at the cottage, he wanted to be getting answers from Eliza, he wanted to make it absolutely certain that Eliot remembered him because what if he didn’t? Then what? Quentin also really, really wanted to get rid of the Beast. Instead, he was back into the gross wonder and weird nostalgia of Brakebills. It made him sick; this promise of real magic and safety. They were all prey, and it was partly his fault.

Eliot always had a way of dismissing dangers, as if their lives were already fucked so whatever more could happen to fuck it up more? It wasn’t the safest approach to dealing with the stress, Quentin’s anxiety had told him as much everyday, but it made him feel steady at times. It reminded him that there was always a way to get out of whatever trouble they were in. The same anxiety repeated that it all ended when he decided to become the Monster’s jailor, but Quentin was getting desperate in keeping that spark of hope that he’d awoken with.

Brakebills was not it, and the wait to take an exam he objectively knew he’d pass was crushing it little by little. Quentin had asked Julia if he could just fucking check on Margo and Eliot.

“We can’t lose you, Q,” Julia said every time, “I know that we need them too, you more than any of us.” She paused and allowed him to absorb her implications. He rolled his eyes every time too; he’d gotten it the first time around. “It’s just a few minutes.”

So when it came around, his whole being was itching to do something. The caller took in Kady, and Alice cloaked the rest of them in an invisibility spell not unlike Harry Potter’s cloak. They entered, and a professor greeted Kady. Quentin recognized him as the Magical Properties teacher he’d once hit with a puff of pollen that never let go of what it hit.

Kady strutted in an arc towards the table with the judges. She flicked her hand and Alice let go of the spell.

“We’re all magicians,” Julia said, grinning in a way that was proof enough. “And you’ll take us in.” Quentin smiled, and the spark in his chest brightened.

The professor shifted his eyes.

Julia tutted with her right hand than joined in with the other. She muttered something in Greek and a fire burst in the middle of the room. The man jumped back and was about to extinguish it when Julia pulled the fire out of the ground and lifted it into the air. She tilted her head and the fire turned green, then blue, then purple. Julia dropped her hands, twisted her fingers, and the fire spooled onto the ground into cursive writing. With brilliant light adjacent to the sun, it read _‘WICKER RULEZ’._ She walked back to Quentin’s side. “Very middle school,” he smiled.

“I know.” Julia smiled back.

Kady pulled out a chain from her pocket. She placed it on the table of the entranced teacher. With two pairs of pinched fingers, she pulled her hands apart above the chain. Energy pulsated around the chain, reaching Quentin’s nose. She tutted in quick movements and each metal piece separate from the one it was joined to. Then, the metals lifted on the table in a single row. Kady pressed down and they ebbed themselves onto the table. All without a word uttered.

Alice sighed, announcing it was her turn. She turned to the window and pulled on the glass. Quentin instantly recognised the spell. And, sure enough, the horse had appeared, dancing on her hand. She placed it on the table and slipped away. There was a pause. The professor was now sitting still, contemplating.

“You’re Alice Quinn, no?” he said. He didn’t wait for a response. “The Dean warned us of— um, unpermitted persons like yourself. But, my, this is incredible.” He smiled. “I could talk to Henry about you three.”

Quentin squinted at him. “Um- Three?”

“Well, I see three women capable of extraordinary magical capabilities, and—” He waved his hand at Quentin. “You.”

“I can do fucking magic,” Quentin affirmed. He’d just created a seven foot rainbow in his apartment four hours ago. If he can do anything, it’s some first-year magic. “Do you have any cards, Jules?” She shook her head. He couldn’t do his old trick then. Uncharted territory inside of uncharted territory.

He glanced around the room. There was only the table. Without a second thought, he crumbled it into splintered pieces with a tut and a 5-word chant. “Uh- Sorry,” he stumbled across the room, a step behind the pile of wood. Like a puppeteer, he held out his hands. It felt like taking his first steps as he raised his fingers up and down, up and down. The feeling of where the table was supposed to meet controlled his fingers. When a piece’s brother called, his magic answered. Quentin couldn’t feel this part, but he knew that the molecules inside of the wood were attaching together, woven until they were one.

When the table was complete, it was like a switch had gone out in the back of his head. There it was: complete and awake, alive in its own way. The itching urge to fix everything slightly off in the room came to him, but it left just as quick. Things to do, people to see, beasts to kill. Everyone was quiet when he’d come back to reality. “Minor mendings, bitches,” Quentin professed. And he took off.

* * *

Smoke danced through Eliot’s teeth as he exhaled, sending notes of ash and tobacco through his mouth. The sun was unforgiving and hot on his skin, halfway baking him in the layers he was dressed in. But he didn’t mind, not really. He’d get an uneven tan for his best friend any day.

“Best friend,” he muttered in the air, feeling it on his tongue. The label was right, technically, for whatever Quentin and he were; he was the closest friend he’d ever had— after Margo. And the longest, in some pocket of space and time and bullshit.

But they weren’t just friends in that one specific pocket, were they? Eliot pondered, allowing himself to think more curiously about their fifty years together than he ever had before. He wasn’t entirely sure. It was all too fuzzy to make out any specific labels. But what is so utterly clear — to straight-forward, true Q more than him — is that they were good. Good enough to last till the age of cracking bones and irreversible grey hair and- and fucking grandchildern. They loved and were loved so deeply it had defined them for decades.

Eliot didn’t realize his eyes were closed until he couldn’t bear the red-blackness and the sting in the corners of his eyes. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, wiping the few traitorious tears from his cheek. When was the last time he’d let himself think about anything past keys and fairies and monsters and crowns?

Air was light in chest, and it didn’t feel like a catharsis, per say. On his own, it was like he’d finally discorporated his fears and his past and future. All the possibilities of being back in time, of being able to change it all. To be able to fix everything, himself included— if just a bit. How is it that just that morning he wanted to drink himself till he wasn’t anyone? That feeling felt like an artifact of time he wanted to lay and bury until it was sediment.

Eliot lay on the ledge, swept with unease and the bitter taste of hope. Feeling new and old, and maybe a little different. He could fix things because he could be better. Wanted to, even.

He looked at his wrist watch, absent-minded. He jolted up. It was way past noon. More than an hour past. The exam definitely ended, and Quentin wasn’t there. He never came through. His cue had come and gone and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t fucking there. “No-” Eliot choked out, shaking his head. Eliot’s whole being gave out. He had to be alive, right? He had to, because he wouldn’t leave him, he wouldn’t go off course from where he was supposed to be. In Brakebills, with him, learning magic. It was practically written, in every single timeline.

His elegant stretch was taken over by corpse-like stillness. Eliot’s head fell to the side, facing the building, unfocused. He couldn’t move. Q wasn’t there. Everything was done. He was done.

A shadow grew in the white backdrop of his vision. The reaper weeped as life injected itself back into Eliot’s stream, all because he knew. That figure was imprinted into his mind, never to be forgotten. He was there and something good was happening, because he was there for him, him, him.

“Quentin,” Eliot yelled, to the skies and to the fields that separated them. He breathed out a breath that felt so heavy and light, so beyond anything he’d ever dared to express. It brought with it a chest-rattling looseness that Eliot would’ve mistaken for his soul leaving his body, for good, if the drum of his heart wasn’t beating against his throat.

He didn’t care for what the Eliot of this time would’ve said about his reaction. Why would he care? Why? When that all too familiar silhouette was now in full view in the Autumn sun? With all of its bulkiness, its unsureness, and its fucking floppy hair. With his chest heaving, legs still hurrying down the study hall stairs, eyes searching. Eliot sat up and Quentin’s gaze caught him, like a fish being reeled in to be stuffed and displayed.

Eliot didn’t remember jumping down, or throwing the cigarette on the ground, along with the wallet and the stupid name card. Then- it was an explosion. A firework, a cinder turned to blaze. The blast wave so strong it was unforgettable. So finally, fucking _ finally, _ Quentin Coldwater collapsed onto his chest and heaved and breathed and- god, he was so full of life. So real, alive, here in his arms, under his chin, warm, whole, together.

Q was muttering something. It took a few seconds for Eliot to understand. “You remember,” Quentin was repeating, voice cracking, and awkward, and-

“Of course I do,” Eliot assured instantly, to melt that worry from both their systems. “Everything, Quentin. Fucking everything.” A sob fell out of him and he couldn’t stop it when another came, so it went on and on until he could finally speak. But, by that point, he didn’t know what to say. “Oh fuck, Q. Fuck.”

Quentin’s kind face leaned above him, which is when Eliot realized he’d fallen over on him. He pulled him to another hug that encompassed them whole, as they were. “I know,” Quentin said, voice floating.

Eliot collapsed further. “It’s been too, too, _ too _god damn long. I missed you so much, Q.” He felt light-headed.

Q shook, breathing heavily. “I know,” he said as he looked up and rubbed his thumbs under Eliot’s eyes, easing the crumple off his face. Eliot closed his eyes, head ringing in the fall and rise of emotion. “I missed you. Being you.” His breath warmed Eliot’s lips. A shiver ran through his body. Too much, too little. He pulled Q to his shoulder.

“Fuck you, Coldwater,” Eliot muttered, but it was lost in Quentin’s little, bright chuckles. Eliot would’ve fallen from the ache in his heart right then and there if Q wasn’t holding him up. A rush pushed inside of him, spreading heat and tingles up his side and arms, one he couldn’t hold in. “I love you. And it’s scary, because I don’t know if I can handle-” He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “If I can handle losing you again.”

He pecked Q’s forehead, then did it again because he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” Quentin whispered to his back. “I love you too, you know.”

“Yeah?” Eliot remarked as he pulled back, a low grimace on his lips. His long hands took Q’s shoulders into a tight grip. “After everything I’d done? It had done?” His stomach flipped, unsure why he’d even brought it up. Quentin big eyes traveled across Eliot’s face, as if inspecting an incredibly inaccurate map of downtown New York. He planted himself inside Eliot’s eyes.

Q grabbed Eliot’s elbows in turn. “Yes,” his voice was firm, insistent. He looked away and the confidence of the moment slipped. “Always. You’re Eliot.” Eliot nodded, lip quivering. Maybe he was.

Eliot laughed, delirious. Quentin laughed too. And for a moment of time, a pocket, everything was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise that they are all happy after this. Q and Eliot get together. Margo and Fen regain their kingdom as co-monarchs. Eliot becomes their highest advisor and teaches Fillory how to live independent of magic. Kady and Alice get together and take control of the Library with the help of Zelda. Quentin and Julia get their respective Magic Masters (Q does his canon thesis on the moon). The Chatwin Siblings (INCLUDING RUPERT CHATWIN AND HIS BF) travel to a far off place (maybe in Fillory who knows) and live quietly. Penny 23 and 40 separate and live their own lives. Plover is finally fucking dead. Everything is good.


End file.
